The breakfast was exceptional and the company even more so. According
to Twyla, "Honey, I've lived here for over thirty years and I know all
there is to know about everyone within a twenty mile radius. I can
even tell you the brand of deodorant they use... or don't... and who
to avoid on hot days because of it."

They got to a first name basis very quickly and Shasta had to reveal
her real name.

"Now I know about how people give odd names to their kids and all, but
I'm willing to bet money that Shasta isn't the name you were given at birth,
am I right?"

Chagrined, the writer nodded and took a breath. " I was always
kind of hyper active when I was a kid. I was pretty bossy too. At
least I always bossed my sister around. I did everything early. Talked,
walked, whatever. I was kind of a ..." she cleared her throat and looked
down at her cup, clearly uncomfortable, "a prodigy, I guess. Anyway,
for reasons only my subconscious understands, I always seemed to talk to
my sister in the third person. As a result, I was forever saying
things to her like, 'She has to play with me, now,' or 'She has to take
a nap with me'. Oddly enough, I could usually remember to be polite
about it and add Please and Thank You, but I was such a motor mouth, as
Leslie calls it, when I was little, that the words kind of ran together
and sounded like 'shehasta'. The family thought it was cute for some
reason and started to refer to me by the phrase and it evolved into Shasta.

When I submitted my first manuscript to Plume Publications, they accepted
it right away, but the advertising editor thought my real name.."

"Which is?"

"Oh, yeah. Emily. Anyway, he thought it sounded too old
fashioned and since they were planning to try to hock me to the public
as the modern day Agatha Christie, they wanted something younger and more
memorable. He called my dorm to ask me about it, but I was out and
my sister was in. When he told her what he wanted me for, she gave
him the info and he ran with it. The rest is literary history."

"Well, at least you weren't named after a lawn mower. My..
" The ringing of the telephone interrupted her. "Let me get that
for you."

"Hello."

"Well hello, honey, how are you doing?"

"Yep, its me. Your friend is right here. She just had a little accident
last night and I'm here to help her out a bit. Here ya go."

Handing the phone to the young woman she said, "Its Stephanie, for you."

"Steph? Hi ya."

"Hi ya, yourself. I was just calling to see if you got everything
settled in and found your way around."

"Yeah, I did. Thanks."

"So what is this that Twyla tells me about an accident?"

"Well, I went out last night and ended up trying that restaurant you
recommended.. "

"The Ravens Nest?"

"Yeah."

"Great, so how did you like it?"

"Oh wow, the food was just fabulous. Who would have thought I
could find food that good in such a small place."

"Well, you know the owner is the only woman chef ever to have worked
at Maxim's in Paris. She was trained and taught at some of the finest
culinary arts schools in Milan, Florence, Paris and New York."

"No kidding!"

"Oh yeah. As a matter of fact she's standing there listening to
you talk to me right now." Even through the phone, Shasta could tell
Stephanie was smiling at her.

The writer didn't know if she should feel embarrassed or stupid as she
looked to the woman whose back was to her, busily cleaning up their breakfast
dishes.

Clearing her throat, she continued, "Thanks for telling me. I
feel like an idiot now."

"Don't. Twyla is one of the kindest and most unpretentious people
you will ever meet." Before the blonde could break in, she went on.
"Now, tell me about this accident."

"Ah..." She knew if she told her everything, shed get one of two reactions.
The first being an I told you so from her publisher who was convinced that
she couldn't go a day without getting herself into the middle of some kind
of problem, and the second was an overreaction and the command to get back
to L.A., where she could get some help with her injuries. She didn't want
to go. The publishing house was notorious for taking special care and precautions
with their best selling authors, and Shasta was their top money producer.
She knew she would have to hedge a little bit with this explanation.

"I... I got mugged in the parking lot." She hoped that would be
enough.

"You got what?" She could tell that Steph wasn't buying it all the way
by the skepticism in her voice. "Details, please."

" I went to the restaurant and passed the bar. There was a drunk
there who tried to pick me up, but I skipped into the dining room and forgot
about him. Evidently, he didn't like the rejection and saw me coming
out later. I guess his feelings were hurt and he kind of... you know,
got mad and hit me." She was trying really hard to sound calm and believable
about it, but she knew it was a lost cause when she heard the woman's tone.

"Okay, we'll try this again. What happened, and what aren't you
telling me, and how are you? All of it. In detail. And this
time the unvarnished, unsullied, unfabricated truth." Stephanie let go
a long sigh. "You are now and have been as long as I've known you,
the WORST liar in the world. Don't even attempt it. Even if it isn't
an outright lie, you know I can always tell when you're trying to not tell
me something. I'm a busy woman Em. Just the facts please."

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, sucking in along breath.
She knew she'd never get away with it. She never had. Everyone
knew. She was never able to get out of date with a simple I'm sorry,
I have plans like her friends did. And, the worst of them all, had
been Stephanie. She was like some godsdamned sort of bloodhound,
the way she could just smell it whenever she wasn't being completely forthright.
In addition, unlike her more polite friends or relatives, she never let
it go. She started to understand that this inability to hide any
part of herself, like everyone else, could be part of the reason she turned
to writing fiction. After all, they were just made up stories.
She was, in actuality, telling lies and tall tales about people she never
met, doing things she wished she had done. That the stories seemed to sell
so well let her know that they were at least believable. No, the
problem lay in her delivery. Something about her face and tone of
voice when she said anything untrue just gave her away.

Knowing it was useless to try to avoid it she summoned all of her sophomore
year journalism class know-how and related the 'who, what, why, where,
when and how' of the incident last night.

"...so I've got a few bruises on my face and my ...chest, a swollen eye
and a broken wrist. If I were you, I wouldn't expect me to meet my
deadline on time. Right now just wiggling my fingers hurts like crazy."

"Oh Honey, I'm so sorry. You just forget the deadline issue and
get well. Hell, one of the reasons your there is to relax and get
a little more focused. Take some time to heal and unwind. The
area is beautiful. Take some walks, take some naps, go shopping,
and meet the people out there. A finer and friendlier little town,
you'll never find. And listen, I'll be up to see you this weekend
to see how you're doing. You just let Twyla take care of you for
a while and if you need anything before I get up there, you know you can
call me. I'm here for you 24-7, do you understand?"

The smile on her face was evident in her voice when she replied. "Oh
Steph, you are such a sweetie. But really, I'll be fine. You
don't have to make a special trip up here."

"Nonsense, I was going to surprise you any way. But now, I have
an idea and I think you'll like it. I can't tell you about it, I'll
have to show you. Besides, I love it there. I'll bet you didn't
know that I grew up in that house, did you?"

"Wow. That must have been great. You can tell me all about
it when you get here."

"I will, I promise. Now let me speak to A.. Twyla again."
She held her breath, hoping the very observant writer would let her get
away with her inadvertent slip.

"Okaaay." Steph heard the tone and knew she had a split second to get
the writer off the phone before the inquisition began, so she interrupted.

"Listen, I've got another call so I'm kind of in a hurry here..."

"All right. Bye Steph. Here's Twyla." She handed the
phone over to the woman who had just resumed her seat at the table and
watched her closely.

"Hi dear."

The older woman seemed to listen for a few minutes then responded.
"You know I will. Can't wait to see you too. Bye Honey."

Just as Shasta opened her mouth to speak, Twyla said abruptly. "My,
the time goes by so fast when you're with good company. We're expected
over at the Sheriff's station in less than an hour so why don't I help
you get cleaned up and dressed and then we'll get going." She stood
and pushed the chair in, then came around to help the writer up. She led
the injured woman to the bedroom, all the while keeping up a running stream
of conversation, picking up where they left off before the phone call.

"As I was saying, my husband now. He had the most awful habit
of naming our kids after whatever thing in his life was giving him the
most joy at the time. That was his only stipulation, you see.
I wanted a lot of children and he was more than willing to oblige, as long
as he got to name them. As a result I have children named after the
darndest things..."

The little blonde was so entranced by the whole conversation, she simply
forgot what it was she wanted to ask the charming older lady about, and
before she knew it, they were pulling into the lot of the Sheriff's station.

"...the last one he named after the boat he just bought. To this day,
I don't know how those kids ever got through school without killing one
of the kids that teased them about their names. Oh, they most assuredly
had plenty of black eyes and bruises and I was called to come in and get
them whenever the teachers witnessed the fight, but I can only be grateful
that we never had to pay for any broken bones. Well," she paused and thought
for minute, staring out the windshield, "except for that one time.
Of course, that had nothing to do with name calling. Nope, different
matter altogether."
The writer saw the woman's jaw clench and just a hint of remembered
anger in her eyes. The fierceness of it scared her a little and she
was sure, right then and there, she never wanted this woman mad at her.

"Well, here we are young one. Let me just help you out."
Matching the deed to the words, Shasta found herself entering the Sheriff's
office.

It wasn't a large place. The front counter was waist high and
sitting behind it was a tall, dark haired man sitting at a desk, working
on a laptop. As the door closed behind them, he looked up.

"Hi Mom." He pushed himself away from the desk and using one hand to
brace himself, jumped lightly over the counter. He kissed the smiling
older woman on the cheek and then turned to the writer.
"You must be Ms Cutter. I'm Cole and on behalf of the residents of
Bramble, I really want to apologize for what happened to you last night.
Why don't you come on over here and sit down and I'll let the Sheriff know
you're here." He led her around the counter to a chair next to the
desk he had been sitting behind and asked her if she wanted anything to
drink.

"Well, I'll leave you in Coleman's hands and be back by your house later
this afternoon to bring you some dinner. Anything in particular you
don't like or can't eat?" Twyla had leaned down and had her hand on the
woman's shoulder. The look on her face was so concerned that Shasta
couldn't help but be touched by it.

"Nope. Not allergic to anything that I know of. I've never been partial
to lima beans, but that's about all. But listen, you don't have to
go out of your way for me like this. I'm sure I can manage a frozen
pizza or a can of soup. Steph told me that it was your restaurant I had
that great dinner in last night and I know that must take a lot of time
to manage. I'll be fine."

"Uh oh. You've done it now, Ms. Cutter. We never say the
P word around Momma."

"Listen to the boy Emily, he knows what he's talking about. I
do NOT allow the people I care about to make do with frozen pizza!
Now you just listen to me. Your body has experienced a trauma and
you need the right foods to heal. I'll be back over to your place
no later than five and you will eat a decent dinner, understood?"
The look leveled at the younger woman was stern and uncompromising but
the underlying current of concern and kindness couldn't be brushed off
by Emily's need to fend for herself. Refusing this woman's hospitality
would hurt her, she could tell. It was the last thing she wanted
to do to her new friend.

"Yes ma'am, I understand. Thank you so much Twyla for everything,
and I'll be looking forward to your company later tonight." She smiled
her biggest smile and reached her left hand over to pat the one resting
on her shoulder.

The older woman gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiled back.

"Good enough." Turning her attention to the deputy, she said. "Now,
I'm headed into to the Nest so what do you and the sheriff want for lunch?"

Heading back to the desk from a small side table, he put down a tray
with two cups of coffee, sugar and cream next to the little blonde. "I
don't know. Let me check." He picked up the phone and punched
a number.
"Hi, Mom and Ms. Cutter are here. Mom's headed to the Nest and
wants to know what we want for lunch." There was a small pause.
"I know, but no matter what I say, the minute you ask for something I'll
just change my mind and order that anyway." He laughed a little at
the response and then said. "Okay, will do."

Putting down the receiver he turned back and said, "Make it two Monte
Cristo's with fries and of course whatever Ms. Cutter here will be having
and I'll be by to pick them up at about one, okay?"

"No problem. I know you just had breakfast a little while ago
Emily so you get Coleman here to tell you what's on the menu around 12:30
and he can just call it in. Now, I'm out of here. Have a good
day my dear and watch out for Ms. Cutter here." She reached into
her jacket and handed him a bottle of pills. "Hobie says she's to
get these every six hours for pain as needed and she should have something
to eat with them and lots to drink."

With that, she turned and left as they all bid each other good byes.

Before the door closed completely and before Shasta could turn back
around, she heard the door in front of her open and the Sheriff enter the
room.

"Good morning Ms. Cutter. I hope you're feeling better today."

Instead of the tall dark haired J.D. she expected, she turned to the
melodious voice and the stunning presence of the beautiful deputy from
last night. Except now she was wearing the Sheriff's badge.

"Huh?"

Harley smiled and understood instantly why the look on that lovely face
was so confused.

"It's a little complicated." She extended her hand and offered
it to help her up. "Why don't you come with me and I'll explain it in my
office. Then you can make your statement and I'll tell you what we
found out about the man who attacked you. By that time, it should be time
for lunch and after that I'll have Cole here, drive you back to your place."

That said, she helped her up, picked up the blondes coffee cup and led
her into the office with the word Sheriff clearly delineated on the door.